


like a river's flow

by fishingclocks



Category: Fullmetal Alchemist - All Media Types
Genre: Legend of Zelda AU, M/M, Reincarnation
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-02-07
Updated: 2018-02-07
Packaged: 2019-03-14 18:20:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,126
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13595724
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fishingclocks/pseuds/fishingclocks
Summary: In his eighty fourth year, Roy Mustang passed in peace.And then, he woke up.





	like a river's flow

**Author's Note:**

> the most thanks to ronnie, a literal angel, for playing beta - she helped me navigate grammar's thorny underbelly

There are many years—far _too_ many, some would say—when Roy believes that his story begins simply by coincidence. He is a boy, wandering too far from the safety of hearth and fire, guided by a vivid interest in all of nature’s secrets and the play of sunlight off of the rugged mountaintops.

If he tries, he can remember the exact sight.

He can remember the boyish wonderment, so sure that this and all moments were his alone—with the arrogance of one yet to learn life’s hardest lessons.

He had been young. He had not yet understood that life was not a fixed point—it could truly belong to no mortal, and those who thought otherwise were soon to have their misconceptions shattered most painfully before their very eyes.

How could he have understood the finer points of his own existence, back then? How could he possibly have predicted—scrambling through shrubbery and watching the dawn cascade through cracks in the mountainside—what he was meant to become?

As it was, he was a child, out in the rough places of the world to survive, yet also simply for the thrill of it. Exploring things new, places discovered, and everything in between. There was no one to call him home—fuss and complain over the late hour, if you’re late for supper I’ll have your hide, boy!—all domesticity was long lost to him. Family was a memory, shrouded by youth and the pain of loss.

Roy had long ago decided that he was well without such idle pleasantries. He explored. He stole from what settlements that were foolish enough to fall for his tragic tales of monsters and a face he had been told was utterly _charming_.

In that way, Roy was clever. He could fend for himself: get by when there was no bread to be filched, or cured meats in exchange for petty labour--but there is a difference between cleverness and wisdom.

Cleverness is the ability to suss out the meaning behind a riddle.

Wisdom is wondering why the riddle is being asked in the first place.

Cleverness is seeing Royal Guardsmen in the dead of night and being able to steal up to their camp undetected. Wisdom is deciding to leave the matter alone entirely.

Roy was not an altogether very _wise_ child.

“I thought the smaller one was going to have our heads,” said one of the soldiers, much too loudly. Idiot guard, didn’t he know too much noise would have the monsters upon them all?

“He still might,” chortled another.”

“You don’t really think so, do you? I wasn’t even there…” said another, anxious.

“Let’s just say I’ve made my goodbyes,” said the first, to the raucous laughter of the rest of the group, and tossed another log onto the fire.

Roy, ironically disgusted by the men’s recklessness, made to slip into the night and leave them be. But just then, another soldier chimed in, “What? It isn’t as though the Prince hasn’t been stolen away before.”

Roy, while now a child of the wilds, and thinking himself quite the grown-up, was still at heart an inquisitive boy. And what to lure in a child better than a story of a lost Prince, and the potential daring rescues to follow?

Roy remained in his hiding place, now intrigued.

The first soldier sighed and shook his head. “That was all within the walls of the city. Out here? He could be anywhere, and we would never find a trace.”

“Not to mention the monsters,” chimed in the anxious one.

Others muttered their uncertainty as to their mission’s success.

Roy nearly left again, disappointed at having been cheated of his daring rescue. But then, he was struck suddenly with an idea that one again arose the question of cleverness versus wisdom.

Perhaps neither were at play.

But Roy’s mind had been made.

Leaving the shelter of his hiding place, Roy stepped into the light of the soldier’s fire, while they talked amongst themselves of boring things, like wives and husbands and children.

Roy cleared his throat, and immediately the camp was put on alert—Roy learning fascinating new words as the soldiers scrambled for their swords.

The first soldier, obviously a leader of some sort, stepped forward. His weapon was not drawn, obviously he could see they were joined by a child and not a vicious beast. Roy nearly bristled at that—he could be perfectly threatening, thank you—but then the leader was speaking. “What brings you all the way out here, little one?”

“Would there be a reward, if someone were to find the prince that you lot lost?”

“ _We_ didn’t lose him,” muttered one of the soldiers; he yelped as he was kicked in the shin.

The leader ignored him, and looked Roy in the eye, clearly surprised, and trying to evaluate if this were some trick. Really, adults could be so obtuse. “Who would like to know?” he said.

“Well I would, obviously,” Roy said, frustrated. “I’m the one asking the question.”

The man laughed quietly, but there was some sort of sadness dawning in his green eyes that was… perplexing. Why did adults insist on having so many emotions all at once—wasn’t one good enough? “You’re quite the child, aren’t you?”

Roy shifted. “I suppose.”

The man said, “How about this…ah…what do I call you?”

Roy frowned. “What do I call _you_?”

There was laughter from the other soldiers.

“He has you there, sir!” said the one who had been kicked in the shins. This time he took an elbow to the ribs.

The man’s eyes shone with a warmth that Roy had not felt in years. The feeling was disturbing. “You can call me Hughes,” he said.

“The you can call me Mustang,” said Roy, shoulders squared. “And you haven’t answered me, yet.”

“Under the correct circumstances, Mustang,” said the man—Hughes, “I would tell you to go home and leave it alone. But I think I’m correct in assuming that that isn’t an option for you, aren’t I.”

Hesitating, Roy nodded.

There was that odd sadness again.

“In that case,” Hughes continued, “I’ll say yes. If you bring the prince back where he belongs, there will certainly be a reward for you.”

Roy smiled. “Thank you,” he said, and turned to walk back into the night. He heard the soldiers’ murmurings in his wake—laughter and disbelief—but he _felt_ the eyes of Hughes, following him as he slipped away.

Roy decided to forget that man.

After all, he had a prince to save.

 

* * *

 

 Roy travelled the opposite direction of the soldiers. This was partly to avoid that man, but there was more to it than that.

After all, if the tales and legends were to be believed, there was only one place that one could effectively steal a prince away to. And there were only two high towers that Roy knew of in Hyrule—one was the prince’s home, so that was out. But the other…

Death Mountain was known to all who lived in the wilds. He had heard tales of it all his life: before he had lost his home, around the fires of travelling merchants, in lodgings of strangers too kind—hidden away underground so as not to fall prey to the monsters.

It was said to be as ancient as Hyrule itself—raised from the earth by the goddess’ own hand, fire planted in its belly, tended by creatures older than time. And high at its summit, a palace, built long after by no blessed creature of the goddess. Dark as pitch, reeking of monsters’ filth and pure evil, its walls jagged as knives and unbreakable by any mortal force.

Roy had seen its tower, once; on one of his wanderings, when he had been too curious, gone too far.

It seemed Roy would be moving toward the mountains once again.

 

* * *

 

 Roy had fared well for many a long year with his boomerang to take care of any monsters that might cross his path.

However, not two days after his journey had begun, Roy ducked into a cave, seeking shelter for the night, and was met with the face of a very peculiar old man.

“Ho ho,” laughed the old man.

“Who are you?” Roy asked, boomerang ready.

“My, but you’re young this time, aren’t you?” said the old man, stroking a long, white beard.

“And you’re very old,” said Roy.

The old man laughed again. “So many years missing from your eyes. How very intriguing.”

“You’re old and crazy,” Roy decided. He held his boomerang higher, not sure if he would run, or if that would only provoke him.

The old man gave the boomerang a keen stare. “I do hope that’s not _all_ you have.”

“My boomerang has slain more foul creatures than you, old man,” Roy seethed.

“Oh no,” the old man said, “this certainly won’t do. Here child—it’s dangerous to go alone. Take this.” In Roy’s hand suddenly appeared the most beautiful sword he had ever laid eyes upon.

“I can’t take this, you crazy old coot—!”

By the time Roy looked up, the old man was already gone. “Goddess,” Roy muttered. “Alright. I suppose I’ll take the sword.”

 

* * *

 

 As it turned out, monster-slaying became quite easier with a sharp weapon at your disposal.

Roy almost wished he could thank the old man.

Remembering that unsettling laugh, however, Roy changed his mind.

 

* * *

 

Death Mountain was everything and nothing out of the tales. A monster rose from the ground—the kind with a flower atop its shapeless form. Roy struck it once with his boomerang, then finished it easily with his blade. On the one hand, Roy was filled with a boyish sort of glee that he could now deal with the monsters so smoothly.

On the other, he distantly could feel nothing but a low sort of dread at the sight before him.

The oddest thing was that there were no monsters ahead. A faint path lay trodden to the cavernous gate of the castle, but no beasts dotted its length as they did the rest of the wilds. Aside from the plant that withered at Roy’s feet, there were none. The world atop the fire mountain lay in dead silence.

Except…

No. Was there—?

Distantly, as though a trick of the ear, Roy heard… something. A bump; a shaking of the earth, repeated. He could tap out the rhythm. It was slow, nearly too slow to _be_ a rhythm; but Roy knew somehow that this was not of his imagination.

This was truly, terribly real.

Sound aside, the castle was worse than he had dared ever imagine. Its walls—if they could be called such—were black, almost as if they were built out of the very mountain. But they couldn’t have been. The rock of the mountain was dry, porous; the castle’s walls _shone_ with a terrible substance whose texture was a mystery—one Roy had _no_ interest in solving. Its walls twisted unnaturally, as though the structure protested its own existence. The tower itself—the one which Roy had caught glimpses of, so long ago—was crooked and gnarled like an ancient tree, but at the top…

At the top, Roy peered, tilted his head; and thought he saw a light.

The rest of the palace was a cold, dark nightmare, but at the tower’s peak glowed a soft, faint light.

The prince trapped at the top of the highest tower.

The castle gave off such an evil feeling that Roy was not surprised even the monsters dared not approach—yet, even preparing to enter, Roy looked up at that light, and smiled.

He was coming.

 

* * *

 

 Roy stood at the dark, cavernous mouth of the castle that he supposed should have been called a gate. This did not feel like a gate. There was no door—no drawbridge, even—just this hold in the walls: open, waiting.

He rummaged through his things, and pulled out a candle that he’d nicked from some condescending merchant. He blew gently on the wick, cupping his hand to protect the tiny new flame that sputtered to life.

Roy gathered up his courage. He gripped his sword so tightly the muscles of his hand creaked and groaned. He set his jaw.

The candle flame made no noticeable dent in the wall of darkness ahead…

Roy grit his teeth, and thought of that light. Flickering. Waiting.

He stepped forward, and let the darkness swallow him.

Tried not to feel as though large stone jaws closed behind him.

 

* * *

 

 There was no mistaking, in the dim light of his candle, that there was a noise. He felt rather than heard it, now. It shook the ground. Roy felt it within his chest; louder, fiercer than the beat of his own heart.

Sometimes, as Roy wove his way through halls and corridor, steadily upward, he could swear the noise grew louder. Closer. At those times, he turned around—found a new way up, until it was back to that low, constant thud.

All he knew was that he had to keep moving. All he knew was he could not stop, or the noise would get louder. Closer.

He needed to reach that light.

 

* * *

 

 At some point—Roy knew not when—there ceased to be halls and corridors to wind through. He was in a tight, oddly molded passageway, and it crawled upward steadily in a circle.

He had done it. Roy had reached the tower.

Roy’s eyes brightened, his limbs felt light. Not quite forgotten was the sound, but it seemed less of a concern, at the very least. He ascended up the tower, his mind aflutter, imagining a multitude of good things to follow his daring rescue. The prince, his reward… Maybe enough to earn an apprenticeship; he’d always wanted to study magic—

When light not of Roy’s own making began to filter, faint, into the corridor, Roy, for the first time since he had entered the castle, paused. He was there. He had _made_ it.

His prince was waiting in there.

Why did his stomach all of a sudden clench?

Roy squared his shoulders, set his jaw. Idly, he wondered how he looked, then quashed the thought. He was ready.

Roy finished his upward ascent. He entered the room with the faint, little light.

His prince’s cell was as plain and undecorated as the rest of the castle—black, glistening stone, nothing more. The light came from an enchanted strip of cloth at his feet—the flame neither growing nor consuming its fuel. The cell itself—

“Who in the hell are _you_?”

 

* * *

 

Roy blinked, staring at the occupant of the cell.

“I’m warning you,” he said, voice prickly wish as much fire as the one steadily burning at Roy’s feet, “if you try anything, I’ll rip your eyes out with my teeth, see if I don’t!”

Roy knew he was gawking, he knew it, but _goddess_ — “Are you… the missing prince?”

The prince snorted. “Like you didn’t know that, you filthy kidnapper.”

The prince was… well, obviously nothing that Roy had expected. He was small, _very_ small—though Roy had _heard_ they were nearly the same in age—but he had the most hair that Roy had ever seen. It was almost the typical Hylian blond, but no… there was something about it Roy could have sworn was _gold_ . And his _eyes_ —!

Wait.

Kidnapper?

“I’m here to _rescue_ you,” Roy blurted out, immediately screeching at himself within his mind. Yes, what a dashing rescuer—staring at his damsel in distress stupidly, and then _this_?

The prince’s eyes—so odd, Roy had never seen golden eyes before—narrowed. “My father sent _you_?”

“Well, no,” said Roy. “He sent soldiers. But they weren’t looking properly. Everyone knows you steal a prince away to a high tower.”

The prince regarded him for a moment. “You’re funny,” he said, leaning against the bars of his cell.

Roy blustered. “Well, you’re funny too.”

The prince scowled. “Am not!”

“Well I’m not the one stuck in a cage.”

“That’s your fault—if you’re supposed to rescue me, get me _out_ of it!”

“I don’t believe you’re the real prince.”

The boy stuck his tongue out. “And I don’t believe you’re here to rescue me.”

Roy opened his mouth to deliver yet another stellar response, but he was interrupted by a low, menacing _thud_.

The noise had almost stopped completely after Roy had entered the tower—maybe it had been too far away. But it certainly wasn’t anymore.

To Roy’s surprise, the boy stopped too—he almost looked sick.

Another thud.

The boy turned to Roy, face pale and eyes wide. Roy almost preferred him loud and annoying. “Are you really here to help me escape?” he asked, voice almost a whisper.

Roy nodded solemnly, putting his hand on the hilt of his sword. “I am.”

“Then do it; rescue me. Right now.”

Roy moved up to the bars. This boy—his prince, for better or worse—had seemed so sure and unflappable. Even now, with fear pulling at his features, he seemed to be hiding, fighting much of it. Roy put his hands over the prince’s on the bars.

The prince shook his head. “It’s coming.”

“It?” Roy said. “The thing that’s...?”

“It took me,” the prince said, nodding. “I don’t know how—I don’t remember. But it took me, and it’s coming, you have to get me _out of here_.”

The prince’s hands were white under Roy’s own. Roy moved away to study the cell, trying to find a way to break in. The bars were solid—there was a keyhole, but Roy had never learned how to pick locks. “How, how do I get you out?”

“That’s your job, dumbass!” the prince hissed.

There wasn’t any time. The sound was almost deafening, now. The light on the floor flickered, Roy could not pick a lock, and he wasn’t leaving without his prince.

Muttering one of the worst curses he’d heard grumbled around various campfires, Roy put his back to the bars in front of the prince, and unsheathed his sword.

“Wh-What are you doing?” said the prince. Roy felt a tug at his tunic as the prince took hold of it—whether to push him away or keep him there, Roy couldn’t know.

“I’ve no idea,” Roy muttered.

“Little prince…” moaned a voice from the hall.

The grip on Roy’s tunic tightened.

“You should go,” whispered the prince. “It won’t eat me, but _you_ …”

“I’m not going to just _leave_ you,” Roy said, tilting his head back at the prince and trying to scowl.

 _Eat_ him?

All of the monsters in Hyrule could not compare to the horror of this beast. As it slithered through the doorway, its pale lumpy flesh spilled into the cell, as though the corridor had been constricting its massive girth. But what lanced Roy with an icy spike of fear were its eyes. They lay, almost hooded by baggy flesh, above the creature’s monstrous, gaping mouth; but Roy felt as though they held _emotion_ of some sort. Like the creature loathed itself as much as any.

“Who… Who…” breathed the creatures as it finally stood to its full height in the room. Roy shifted, pointing his sword at the creature’s face.

“I demand you set the prince free, monster!” Roy said. Meeting the creature’s gaze was a horrible thing. It was as though all the suffering in the world were holed up in one form, and had been given a sick, insatiable _longing_.

“Idiot, just get out of here, _run_ —” the prince hissed, pushing at Roy’s shoulders—he ignored him; stood firm.

The creature tilted what could possibly be called a head, and said, “You take little prince away?”

“Well that’s the plan, yes,” said Roy.

“I’m eat you now,” it said.

“I’d rather you didn’t,” Roy said.

“Get _out of here_ ,” the prince said.

“ _Hungry_ ,” the creature said.

Roy paused. The creature was slowly thudding toward him. The prince had sunk to the ground, now, hands buried in his beautiful hair. It seemed funny that this was how he was to die. He had done so much, come so far, met so many strange people. The prince, who defied all expectations of royalty and called him a dumbass, but then told him to run so his life would be spared. That mad merchant named Gillis who sold magic rings and hadn’t bathed once in his entire life. That soldier with the annoying, warm eyes. The funny old man who hid in a cave and gave him a sword…

A sword.

The creature’s mouth loomed over him, drawing ever nearer—the smell of its breath made Roy’s eyes water.

“I,” Roy said, “am going to regret this.”

 

* * *

 

 “You stabbed it.”

“Yes, I did.”

“You stabbed it in the _mouth_.”

“Yes, I did.”

“It _exploded_.”

Roy grimaced, looking down at his poor tunic. “Yes, it did.” The prince could talk, he had been curled up on the ground. He might have to burn this later. “But the key dropped out of it when it did, so I think I did the right thing. Now, are you coming with me, or not?” Roy asked, holding out his hand impatiently. Roy knew the creature was dead—bits of it were in his _hair_ —but he would like to get out of this evil palace as soon as possible.

The prince regarded Roy’s hand with faint suspicion. “Where are we going?” he asked back, crossing his arms.

The suspicion was annoying, but after all the prince had most likely seen in the creature’s care, Roy decided he had earned the right to a little suspicion. He smiled, and  wiggled his outstretched hand. “Home, my prince.”

The prince looked up at Roy, then down at his hand—was it just the sputtering fire, or were his cheeks flushed? Finally, the prince took Roy’s hand in his, clearing his throat and looking away in a suitably regal manner. “Stop being so stuffy—call me Edward.”

Roy’s smile turned to a grin. “Then please call me Roy.”

“I’ll do what I wish. I’m a prince,” said the prince, sniffing.

“Of course… Edward.”

 

* * *

 

 Roy had thought the climb _up_ Death Mountain unbearable—it seemed the downward descent was even worse.

Still, he often found a smile on his face, simply from the prince’s—Edward’s—proximity.

“When I’m king,” he said, emptying his show of debris, “I am going to banish rocks. I swear I will—who needs mountains anyway? Certainly not my _boots_.”

Roy fought his grin valiantly, but ultimately lost the battle.

 

* * *

 

 “You have a sword,” said Edward, sitting on the carcass of a spider-monster and poking one of its eyes.

Roy eyes the one yet living, adjusting his aim. “Mhm,” he hummed, distractedly.

“Why are you using a _boomerang_?”

Roy scoffed in offense, and let his boomerang fly, before offing the last monster with a clean slice. “It stuns the monsters, so I can—”

“You have a _sword_.”

Roy collected his boomerang with a scowl, and shook it in Edward’s direction in—what he thought must have been a—threatening manner. “I _made_ this, you know!”

There was momentary silence, then a sickening _crack_.

“Ew,” said Edward. “Did you know these things’ legs come off?”

 

* * *

 

 As it turned out, the fire in Edward’s cell had been of his own making, because Edward had _magic_ , and despised the dark.

“I don’t use it very often,” Edward admitted, sitting around their little campfire and letting the flame play along his fingertips. “But I like fire. It’s odd—I’m drawn to it, sometimes.”

Roy did not normally light a fire on his travels—the smoke attracted both monsters and criminal Hylians. However, they were nearly out of the wilds; and watching Edward’s hand dip into the flame, and come back out unscathed, he had to admit that he was drawn to it, too.

 

* * *

 

 As soon as they had come across the first road, Edward had been ecstatic. When he had first caught a glimpse of the spires of Hyrule Castle, he had laughed for joy.

So Roy knew that, when they came to the gate of Hyrule Castle Town, Edward was going to want to run right in.

But he couldn’t help it. He stood at the foot of an elaborately carved bridge, detailing the kingdom’s history; in the shadows of a mountain disguised as a palace—and the gate to the surrounding town alone was the most incredible thing he had ever seen. Edward had already run away and left him alone.

His green tunic somehow felt too big and too small, and Roy had absolutely no idea why he was here in the first place; he belonged to the wilds, not the largest city in Hyrule…

“Roy!” said Edward, most likely not for the first time.

Roy snapped back to himself, and said “I’m sorry,” on pure instinct.

Edward smiled and shook his head. “ _Follow_ me, dumbass. You aren’t finished rescuing me til you’ve gotten that reward, remember? So let’s go and get it.”

Roy’s eyes kept shifting from his prince to the gate. “I’ve never been to a city before,” he admitted, slowly.

Goddess bless him, Edward didn’t say anything after that. But he did offer his hand, and a small, private smile.

Roy took it gladly, and let himself be dragged over the bridge and through the gates, to the town beyond.

 

* * *

 

Everyone was thrilled at Edward’s return. It hadn’t taken the guards one long look at the two of them—Roy and Edward, hand in hand—for them to send up a cry that set what must have been the entire castle on them at once.

It turned out that Edward had a younger brother, Alphonse, who was both charming and intimidating in equal turns, all while weeping into his brother’s shoulder and threatening terribly bodily harm should he ever do that to them again. Every guard, every member of the castle staff and noble knelt before the returned prince, and made vows that they could never hope to fulfill about Edward’s future safety. Roy assumed that at least it made them feel better about themselves.

Even Edward’s father, King Hohenheim, made a regal appearance. Things between the two of them seemed stilted, but the King pulled Edward into an—only slightly stiff—embrace, and there was not a dry eye among those gathered; Roy assumed those were rare.

However, even through all of the festivities, Edward managed to pull away and speak to Roy, huddled in a far corner of the courtyard.

There was a momentary awkward silence.

Edward shifted on his feet, seeming more royal to Roy ever second, and somehow this was very discouraging. “I suppose,” he said, “that once you’ve gotten your reward, you’ll go home yourself.”

Now it was Roy’s turn to shuffle his feet. “I… haven’t one, actually.”

Ed tilted his head—Roy could practically see the plot forming in his eyes, which was quite worrying. “Hm…”

 

* * *

 

Roy knelt in front of the King of Hyrule, and, overwhelmed, all he would think was that his knees hurt.

Gone were his little green tunic and cap; instead, he was clad in the blue and gold of the royal family, skin clean and smelling of some sort of flower. Even though it itched, Roy supposed he was grateful for the change in clothing—it felt as though every eye in Hyrule was on him; how much worse would it be if they had _reason_ to stare?

Though, he supposed being knighted at the age of twelve was possibly a reason to stare.

Roy had objected, when he had been told of the plan—had tried to make sure they knew who they were speaking to. Edward had stood off to the side, attempting to look innocent.

“This is your fault,” Roy had hissed.

“Well yes,” Edward had said, grinning. “If you’re going to be my bodyguard, you need to have the title to go with it.”

And Roy had then had to sit down.

Now, Edward stood behind his father, Alphonse at his side. Light streamed in through tall windows—and to think, Roy had not even seen glass before he had taken Edward home—and it played off of the Crown Prince’s hair, plaited extravagantly just for this occasion, for _him_.

There was light applause, and the King made an idle motion with his hand. Apparently, they had gotten through the ceremony before Roy had even finished processing his situation. To the King’s side stepped a soldier, holding the impractically bejeweled ceremonial sword, and why did he seem so familiar…?

Roy nearly jolted when the soldier turned enough to catch his eye. It was him! That odd soldier—Hughes, his name had been.

Their eyes met, and there it was again, that uncommon warmth. This time, however, there was also happiness there; and when Hughes began to walk away, he winked.

“Having accepted the oaths given to you, you have now sworn yourself to the service of me, my family, and Hyrule herself. I, King Van Hohenheim, have accepted these oaths, and I now pronounce you Sir Roy Mustang, Knight and Protector of Hyrule and her Future. Now rise.”

Roy rose, and over the thunderous roars of applause, he caught the eye of the Crown Prince—the Future of Hyrule that he had just sworn to protect. He looked every inch the prince, draped in yards of cerulean, a golden circlet at his brow, and an impassive look on his perfect, regal face.

But their eyes met, and Roy—flooded with the knowledge that this was not Edward, not really, and what few people could say that they knew that?—smiled.

And Edward broke, and laughed along with him.

 

* * *

 

“Are we friends, Edward?”

“I should hope so.”

“Then why do you hate me?”

“In my _defence_ , how was I supposed to know that was a trap? The guy wasn’t even suspicious.”

“He wore a dark cloak and an eyepatch.”

“Shouldn’t we be focusing on getting out of here instead of assigning blame?”

“I am an excellent multi-tasker.”

“…I’m sorry, Roy.”

“Let’s just get you back to the palace before you father calls for my execution.”

 

* * *

 

“I still think that you should just come out and say it,” said Captain Hughes as he parried Roy’s blows.

He growled, both from frustration at being blocked, and not wanting to talk about this again. “Hughes, _concentrate_.”

Hughes hummed, falling back a couple of steps to accommodate an upcoming feint—Roy adjusted his sword-grip accordingly. “I would love to, Sir Mustang, but I’m afraid all this _tension_ is just so utterly distracting.”

Roy spluttered, the blush flooding his unwilling cheeks, which was all Hughes needed to take him down with a well-placed swipe, and the air was rushing from Roy’s lungs in an undignified _oof_.

“Hah, perfect!” called a voice from the edge of the training ground, and Roy cursed under his breath. The worst thing about growing up, he had long ago decided, was the _blushing_.

Hughes offered him a hand up, with a significant look—Roy pushed past him with a scowl, unfortunately having to pass right by Edward on his way out.

“So you lost again, huh?” his— _the_ —prince asked, hopping nimbly off of his perch on the fence. “Why do you think that keeps happening? I thought you had him this time.”

“Maes Hughes,” Roy muttered, “is a cheat.”

 

* * *

 

Roy’s eyes felt heavy, but he knew somehow they needed to open. In fact, his entire face felt heavy. What could possibly be happening?

After fighting with his eyelids for a moment more, they finally pried open, and Roy was immediately met with quite an up-close and personal view of his prince.

“Eh,” he tried to say, but was muffled, because apparently he was being kissed by the Crown Prince of Hyrule. This was apparently a _mistake_ , because muffled as he was, Edward apparently heard him, and wrenched away with a watery gasp.

Oh dear, his prince was crying. Who would Roy have to off this time?

“You _idiot_ ,” said Edward, weak, but filled with the sort of rage that only came with bone-deep fear. “You will never, _ever_ do that again.”

Was it _himself_ he had to kill?

Thankfully, then, as Roy’s eyes—and hands? He did not have the self-control required to be in Edward’s presence at the moment—drifted to his prince’s hair, so beautifully plaited yet oddly mussed, he remembered everything. As Roy’s fingers threaded themselves gentle through unbraided hair, he smiled serenely.

“In all fairness, I was only _slightly_ sure that glass was poisoned.”

A wounded sound broke from Edward’s throat, and Roy’s chest constricted in a way that he hoped did not mean he was dying.

“That thing,” he said, though his vision was slowly losing clarity around everything but Edward, “that you were doing…”

His hand was now on Edward’s cheek. He hoped Alphonse was gone, or he may be losing that one later—though with the way Edward was leaning into the touch, perhaps it wouldn’t have to go without a fight.

“Might you consider doing it again?”

Edward laughed. Roy’s chest constricted again—oh dear, this poison was quite vicious. “You bastard,” said his prince, leaning in to give him the first kiss he would ever be conscious for, and his mouth was suddenly otherwise occupied, or Roy would have said “I love you, too.”

 

* * *

 

Even before his rescue of Edward, and his encounter with the creature there, Roy had not been predisposed to fear. Raised off of the wilds’ harsh winds and the constant threat of monsters there, there had not been much _time_ for fear. If a monster charged, there were two choices to be made, and ‘being afraid’ was not the one that kept you alive. _After_ that encounter, fear became not only the enemy, but an impossibility. When he took the oath of knighthood in front of Hyrule and her King, Roy had sworn away all right to such feelings. The moment Roy stepped through the gates of Hyrule Castle town, something inside of him had known. And that suited Roy just fine.

So feeling the unmistakable tug of _terror_ at his chest was a new sensation—and one Roy was not keen on repeating.

Alphonse’ mild expression grew even more ominously placid, and Roy examined the room for strategic exit points. Foolishly, when he had begun courting the Crown Prince, Roy’s chief fear had been his father. The _King_ . Clearly that fear had been misplaced. He had always liked and respected Alphonse and his backbone, but he had never been on the receiving end of this… rage? Displeasure. The younger prince’s face gave away _nothing_ of the thoughts that lay beneath—and somehow that only added to the utter dread pooling in his gut.

They were in a less travelled area of the castle—if he were to perish here, the body would not be found for a very, very long time.

Surely had had been Alphonse’ plan.

“I just wanted to say,” said the prince, serenely, “that I know you would never intentionally hurt my brother.”

“Certainly,” said Roy, in a rush of breath, relieved to finally have something to work with. “In all the time I have known him, Edward has—”

“I also wanted to say that I won’t care if it’s _unintentional_.”

Roy paused.

Roy supposed he paused just a bit too long, because while Alphonse’ eyes still held a cold sort of _promise_ , they also held a slight hint of bemusement.

“I… understand,” Roy said, at length.

“Excellent!” said Alphonse, sunnily. “I’m so glad that we understand one another. Now, would you care to escort me to a part of the castle that _isn’t_ reported to be haunted?”

The fear lingered—a response to Alphonse that Roy was now realizing was most likely a healthy one—but beneath his terrifying nature lay a love for Edward that Roy could strongly relate to. Smiling weakly, he held out his arm. “Gladly,” he said, and when the prince took his arm, Roy felt as though he had just taken some sort of test.

Hopefully he had passed.

Roy got the feeling he wouldn’t be much longer for the living if he hadn’t.

 

* * *

 

The stone at his back was settling a chill deep into his bones, but Roy’s heart was warm.

He knew that he should move. He knew he should be heading back to his own rooms. If a guard caught him here, at this time of night—

Goddess, if _Alphonse_ caught him here.

But not even the thought of the horrible fate Alphonse could bring down upon him was enough to pull Roy up and down the hall. Here he was, slumped to the floor, grinning giddily, all because—

Memories of the day flew back to the front of his mind; so new, yet already familiar paths for his mind to trod. He could not stop thinking of the way his hand had felt in his prince’s, Edward whispering to him his plans of sneaking away, just for the day, his Father was out of the city and his brother had sworn not to tell… For once, Edward had shed his usual richly-red apparel, and forced Roy to do the same—an attempt to ‘blend in’, though Roy wondered at how Edward could not see how his apart—and they had slipped through a side gate into the town.

Roy was sure that one of Maes’ men—Havoc—had seen them make their escape, but he was also sure he had seen him wink, knowingly.

He just hoped Havoc would accept repayment in some manner that did not involve petty-law breaking or public humiliation.

Ah, but no matter the cost, the day spent with Edward had been worth it.

First, they had wandered the town. When Edward had announced that part of the plan, Roy hadn’t thought much of it. Effectively, apart from his years in the wilds, he had grown up on Hyrule Castle and the town alongside it—he’d just been happy to be able to hold Edward’s hand and watch him interact with the town.

But for as long as Roy had been here, Edward had lived here his entire _life_.

Roy had learned quickly that he did _not_ know everything about the town.

They had spent most of the day wondering together—Edward showing Roy every nook and cranny, usually with a story of mischief to go along with it. Roy could have sworn he’d injured himself with all of the helpless laughter.

It was only when they’d left the town gate behind that Roy had realized he had not once felt as though he’d had to be his prince’s bodyguard. It had just been him, Roy Mustang, and Edward of Elric, taking a holiday from responsibility.

It was when Edward led him by the hand out into Hyrule Field that Roy _knew_ Edward would never stop surprising him.

They had laid down at the top of a grassy hill, and watched the sun as it sank below the distant mountains. Mountains that held so much memory for the two of them.

As is sensing Roy’s thoughts, Edward had taken his hand once again. So many times before it had been him, reaching for Edward. There were no words to describe this new feeling, except that he could get used to it.

Together that had watched all of the vibrant colors of dusk seep out of the sky, replaced by the deep indigo of night; like ink, spilled across a rosy page. Reluctantly, they had left their little hilltop. They had crept through the town gate, back through their secret entrance. Havoc was still there, and would _definitely_ require payment of some sort.

And at the door of his chambers, as Roy had been pouring his heart and soul into being a swoon-worthy gentleman, Edward had stood on the tips of his toes, buried his hands in Roy’s hair, and kissed him.

And _kissed_ him.

So here he sat, mere feet away from the doorway in question, unable to move for fear of his legs giving out from underneath him, and—

Ah.

Roy supposed _this_ was swooning.

 

* * *

 

The energy radiating from the room was a black one. The door was firmly shut—the noise of it slamming had nearly deafened the entire castle. Even Alphonse had decided not to get himself involved.

“Father and Brother’s relationship has always been… a complicated one,” he had said, diplomatically. “Sometimes sticking your head in will only get you tangled and choked in the web.”

But Roy knew that he couldn’t leave his prince alone—not at this, the time when he would need him most. Whether as a lover, a friend, or merely a bodyguard—Roy would be there for him.

The door, despite earlier slamming, swung open easily. Roy chose to take this as a good sign.

His prince was all too easily found, after that. Edward stood in front of his window, leaning against the frame, his arms crossed as if to protect himself from some unseen attacker.

Well, Roy thought, recalling the source of the argument, perhaps not so unseen.

He slipped into the room lightly, closing the door behind him. Roy moved to stand at Edward’s left, at the other side of the window, and simply waited.

He did not have to wait long. Not even moving his eyes from the window, Edward huffed. “You should go,” his prince said, as though there were anywhere else in the Goddess’ good world he could be.

Roy, not sure how words of undying loyalty and affection would effect Edward’s current mood, merely said in response, “Perhaps.”

Edward tilted his head enough to send him a weak glare. Ah, progress. “I don’t joke, Roy. I can be left alone for one moment. It isn’t as though I’m King _yet_.” The bitterness in those last words nearly made him wince.

Roy decided he should at least _attempt_ to smooth things over. “Edward,” he began, but he was never to finish.

“Did he send you, then?” Edward said, rounding on him. “Of course he did—that’s the only reason you stayed in the first place, after all. You had an apprenticeship in mind, you were going _home_ , but the King asked you to shadow his idiot son, and how could you refuse, you damnably honorable _bastard_ —”

Roy weathered the storm with not a change in expression—it was only when tears began to fall that he stepped forward. Edward shied away, seemingly thinking he would reach for an embrace. But Roy knew better than that.

He knelt.

He knelt before Edward, his lover and the only desire of his heart. He knelt before his prince, who had lead him through a cavernous darkness with his ever-shining light, who commanded respect and _awe_ from any mortal being. He knelt before his future King.

Edward hiccupped, but Roy did not look up to see the tears he knew graced that beloved face. He kept his head tilted downward, completing his gesture of humility. It was only when he felt a gentle, shaking hand cup his chin, tilt it upward, that Roy met Edward’s gaze. The emotions there were too many to count.

“Why does he do this?” Edward asked; ‘to me’ was almost implied.

Roy smiled sadly. “I cannot know your father’s mind.”

Edward searched his face both with his gaze and touch—seeking answers to questions neither one of them could ask.

“I’m not ready,” he whispered.

A small boy, terrified eyes wide, yet filled with resignation as he told him to _run_ —

“You have _always_ been ready,” said Roy, and there was not a breath of exaggeration in and word.

How long they stayed that way, Roy did not know. But together, they sought answers, and privately grieved a sort of life that would soon be lost to them forever.

His father had stepped down. On his twenty-sixth birthday, two months from now, Edward would be King.

 

* * *

 

The idea to combine their marriage and Edward’s coronation day had reportedly been Hughes’, but with the way Alphonse spoke of it, Roy would blame him for the rest of his life.

On the one hand, it had been a wise decision. It was always more difficult to marry a King than a prince, and there needn’t be _two_ immense celebrations every year for both anniversaries—which Roy found to be wasteful. So yes, it might have been a good idea in theory.

But it would have been so much easier to slip away from the wedding feast if his new husband—and ah how the words were music to Roy’s ears—didn’t have to address every dignitary present one by one or risk a diplomatic incident.

“You seem fidgety,” said Edward, and Roy cursed as another dignitary showed their smarmy face. Of course Edward already knew of this new weakness.

Luckily, Roy had a new one of his own gracing his arsenal. “Not at all, _my King_ ,” he murmured, in the sultriest tone he could muster in the same room as Alphonse. _Edward_ then cursed, to the dismay of the Lord in front of them.

When the poor man had scurried on his way, Edwrd gave Roy a blistering glare. Roy of course returned it with an innocence that was practically cherubic. Edward’s eyes narrowed. Ah, now the game was on.

 

* * *

 

Roy had soft carrots shot with precision into his face once more, and heaved a sigh only the vegetable-covered could muster. “Alphonse,” he said, “I do believe your daughter is attempting assassination.

Alphonse shrugged pleasantly—a look the little hellion Miri had already perfected, to Roy’s consternation. Alphonse’ wife, a woman named Winry who had been a blacksmith in town, and still repaired the guardsmen’s weaponry, gave out a snicker.

“She never does that for us,” Winry assured him, seeming at least slightly more sympathetic to his plight. Yet not sympathetic enough to take the duty of feeding away from him.

“Of course she doesn’t,” Roy said, as this time a pea attempted to lodge itself in his ear. He looked to his husband for air—a mistake. Edward was beside himself with laughter, the traitor.

“Edward, are you really quite sure we made the right choice in heir?” he said, scooping another bite of vegetables and steeling himself for another onslaught.

“She’s perfect,” Edward said, between gasps for air.

Beneath his mountain of food, Roy looked at Miri’s wide, beaming grin, and couldn’t help but grudgingly agree.

 

* * *

 

The weight of the years and all that he had lost lay heavy on Roy’s shoulders, and he could not rise from his bed even if the Goddess herself appeared and requested it of him. Roy felt it in every creaky rise and fall of his chest—his time was drawing to a close.

He said as much to the woman next to him, and her tears flowed freely down her cheeks. “I understand, Uncle,” said Miri—the Queen, since his husband’s death.

His husband…

Oh, but how this moment had pulled at his very being since the moment of Edward’s passing.

He had done nothing to speed it along, of course, but with Edward gone, there was a piece of him simply missing—always calling from a place he could never go—and finally being able to join him was a joy that he had not known his heart to still possess.

Three years it had been.

To see those shining, golden eyes again…

Miri’s hand clutched his, tightly. The only one left, she would be now. The only grief Roy felt at this would be for her.

He felt the moment’s fleeing faster than time could count. It shouldn’t be much longer, now.

“Miri, dear,” he rasped. She held him tighter, told him not to fuss, it would only make it worse—she knew already, it was alright.

Very well—Roy did not mind missing his goodbye to her. There had been far too many goodbyes, in recent years.

The beating of his heart was slowing, erratic. Roy felt a numbing weight settle in his chest and spread.

Roy closed his eyes for the last time.

“Did I ever tell you the story of how your uncle and I met, Miri?” he whispered.

“Yes, Uncle.”

Roy smiled. “He was my light in the dark places.”

He could see it now. The light. It called his name—the voice of his husband, asking why he had taken so long.

Roy Mustang died in his eighty fourth year—he passed in peace.

 

 

 

 

And then, he woke up.

**Author's Note:**

> buckle up, folks, this one's gonna be interesting
> 
> let me know what you thought! comments/kudos make me cry <3


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